Page 91 of Love on the Line

Chapter 31

Sitting at the kitchen counter,Devon checked his emails. A message confirmed the purchase of the glass lamp he’d mentioned to Paul earlier. Paul had almost tripped him up at the antique shop. He’d thought Paul was asking him why he’d killed Lynn, not why he’d told her about the bet.

Crisis averted. He’d talked his way out of it as usual, and Paul was none the wiser. The guy still held a torch for that bitch back in college and had even gone to the reunion. Pitiful. It would be satisfying to rub another loss in his face. Always felt good to come out on top.

Devon frowned. Time to check his recordings. Anne and Pearson had gone on some hike, another cheapskate date. He pressed a button and listened to Anne on her phone excitedly telling Emily about Pearson’s proposal.

Proposal? A red haze clouded Devon’s vision, and he fisted his hands. He pounded one on the kitchen counter and knocked a bar stool to the ground.

Engaged? They’d fucking gotten engaged?

Devon clenched his jaw and stalked to the wet bar. He poured a drink, downed it, and refilled the tumbler. He’d never expected this and had no tip-off because Pearson hadn’t discussed it with anyone at his condo.

In two gulps, Devon finished the second drink and slammed the glass on the counter, cracking the thick glass of the tumbler. He paced the room, panting and fuming.

Why would the bitch have accepted the offer from a loser who couldn’t even hold his own in a fight? Didn’t make any sense. Devon had showed him up, big time. Even the press had heralded him as the new hero. He was the hands-down winner.

He’d gone out of his way to hit all of Anne’s hot spots. Good with children, wanted a family, charitable, and well respected in the community. She should be chasing him, not turning down offers for dinner with him and the superintendent.

Pearson still rode on the coat tails of his former fame, but Devon was rich, connected and powerful. A much better prospect. Anne wasn’t even worthy of him. Stupid, ignorant whore. He had a list a mile long of women who’d marry him in a heartbeat.

He would not lose another wager over one. No fucking way. The liquor burned in his belly, and his head throbbed. He knocked another chair to the ground, then took a deep breath.

Focus. This game wasn’t over. He paced again. Proving his superior strength and ability hadn’t impressed Anne enough. Devon needed to take Pearson out of the picture.

His fingers itched to do to Pearson what he’d done to Louie, that incompetent goon who’d messed up Anne’s face. After Devon had killed him, he’d ripped the earring out of the moron’s ear and added it to the memento collection in the secret room beneath the antique store. A reminder of what happened to people who crossed him. Pearson’s Super Bowl ring would be another trophy. No doubt, the conceited asswipe wore it all the time.

Devon rubbed a hand across his chin and narrowed his eyes. Much as he’d love to kill the meathead, it wouldn’t work. Anne would mourn the bastard, and time would run out. Devon needed to discredit Pearson in such a way that Anne would break the engagement.

The raging hot blood in Devon’s veins cooled as he conjured up a scenario. He twisted his lips as a plan formed. Yes. This would definitely break them up, and when her world came crashing down, guess who would conveniently be there to pick up the pieces?

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